


Them

by ChloShow



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 13:29:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8753434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloShow/pseuds/ChloShow
Summary: Mr. Robot starts speaking to Elliot's imaginary friend.





	

Sometimes I think Elliot’s watching me, but then I realize it’s just you. Lurking.

What does Elliot see in you anyway? You’re a fucking pile of synapses created because he’s incapable of having real friends. Yeah, I know. You’re going to say I’m projecting my insecurities onto you and that everything I say is just a misdirected jab at my own existence. Blah, blah, blah.

I understand how much Elliot loves to hear himself speak, but how can he be friends with someone who doesn’t even _talk back_! That’s not a friend. That’s a therapist! Don’t tell him that. It would crush his ego. Let him pretend he has more than 1 friend.

* * *

 

Elliot gets his feelings hurt so easily. You kill _one person_ , and he gets so bent out of shape! I bet _you_ don’t care I killed someone. You don’t care about anything. You’re just _there_. Not feeling, not giving a shit. Do you even have a shit to give?

You’re nothing but a worthless fucking shit-soaked cunt sucker!

 

Nothing?

Not even an eyeroll?

HELLO IS THERE ANYBODY HOME.

Maybe you don’t know English. I wonder if Elliot’s ever considered that. He’s been chatting to you about his problems, and his good ol’ pal doesn’t even understand what the fuck he’s saying, just nodding along politely. Fuck polite. Where’d I put that gun…

BANG!

Goddammit, not even a flinch? Now, I know you understand violence. Even a fucking half-brained dog understands violence. Maybe you knew I wasn’t really going to fire.

 

There. How do you feel now with your brains smeared all over the wall?

Nada.

You’re no fun, you know that.

* * *

 

I don’t think I’ve ever been in charge this long. Something must be wrong.

Has he told you anything lately? Nothing about his thoughts on Stage 2, no word on if he’s going to fuck up the single most important event in modern history…No?

I didn’t think so. You’re the “impartial” silent observer-type, watching but never interfering. Well, could you interfere just this one time? It’s for Elliot’s safety. If Stage 2 doesn’t happen, someone’s going to die. Not saying Elliot will, but you don’t want someone’s death on your conscience do you?

 

Fine. Take his side, but if he dies, you die, too.

* * *

 

Hello God, it’s me, Edward. Ya see, my son’s lying to me, and I trained him through years of emotional manipulation to only tell me the truth, so you see my dilemma…

What’s your name anyhow? He hasn’t given you one? That’s probably for the best. “Mr. Robot” isn’t exactly a winner, but that’s what you get when your idiot son doesn’t have the social niceties to ask for your goddamn name. I’d ask for your name, but I know you won’t answer so you’ll just have to deal with what I give you.

How’s it going, Fuck-Sucker? Or, wait, how’s it hangin’, AssBlast?

Nah, those don’t fit just how fucking infuriating you can be. How about…

Red.

* * *

 

Hey Red, let’s play Fuck, Marry, Kill.

Your choices are Joseph Stalin, Miley Cyrus, and Michael J. Fox. Don’t tell me! I want to guess.

You’d fuck Joseph Stalin, of course. Marry Michael J. Fox, and then do us all a favor and kill Miley Cyrus. There. My turn. Who are my choices?

Hmm, wow, that’s a toughie, Red, but I think I’d…fuck Tyrell Wellick, marry Tyrell Wellick, and kill Tyrell Wellick.

You’re surprised, aren’t you? Thought I was gonna switch the last two, but hey, if it were up to me, “Marry” wouldn’t be a category at all. Fuck, Get Drunk With, Kill. That’s better. No more of that flawed institution that has spawned eons of fucked up children in that endless cycle of misery.

Marriage is as outdated as paper currency, my friend, and as liable to fail as the United States is to crumble apart into a helpless pile of infants, waiting for feeding time and never realizing their mother’s laying dead on her bed from an overdose.

Not my _best_ metaphor, but everyone has their off days. Even me.

* * *

 

Dear diary,

I’m a virgin, and tonight I fucked this boy. He told me I could do anything I wanted to him, so I let it all out. All the frustration, all the anger, and he fucking took it. Have I found the One?

You don’t believe I’m a virgin? Alright, I wouldn’t either, but I am. Or was. Just never had the time what with the planning for world domination and all. But that’ll be our little secret.

* * *

 

I could kill myself right now, and that would ensure the plan from going off without a hitch. I could kill myself, and you wouldn’t do anything about it.

Freud was mostly full of shit, but I do think his concepts of the life and death drives, Eros and Thanatos, have some worth. Elliot wants to live so that he can save the world (in his ever so misdirected way). I want to kill us so that success is ensured.

If Elliot is life, and I know what I am, then what are you? How can you have no side in this issue? Are you really that callous?

Or maybe you’re just detached. You don’t affect anyone, and no one affects you. What a shitty fucking existence you must have without pain or pleasure.

* * *

 

Well he’s not the One in case you were wondering!

Cock-deep in Tyrell, I felt like destroying something beautiful, so I started punching him in the face. He stopped me before I could do too much damage, which really got in the way of me getting off FYI!

He asked me how I could do that to him, and shit, had this bozo completely forgotten what he’d told me? Or maybe people simply don’t fully understand what their promises entail. Anyway, I said I wanted to see just how far he’d suffer for me. Poor fucker said he’d die for me, which is something people _say_ but hardly follow through with.

I wanted something with no limits, but like I thought, everyone has a goddamn limit.

Except me.

And you I guess.

 

* * *

 

More disappointments, or maybe not?

Something Tyrell told me has started to “scratch that part of my brain” as Elliot loves to say.

After acting like a bitch all week, he _finally_ let me fuck him again, which was a mistake on his part.

I really needed something to put me over the edge, so I locked my hands around his throat and asked if I could kill him. I wouldn’t have; I swear! It was just a stupid thing people say during sex like, “I love you,” or something.

So instead of the “Yes” I wanted, Tyrell tells me he can’t die this way. He says he needs to die with a purpose.

I kissed him. Sure, we’ve kissed but never on the mouth. But I kissed him when he told me that. I don’t know why.

I didn’t think I had a limit, but…

Is that my limit? Depriving a man of purpose?

And if I have a limit—me, Mr. No Limits, No Rules, No Exceptions—then you have one, too.


End file.
